Slaver of Gor - Chapter One

 

 

There is always that moment at a fashionable garden party in Argentum, or perhaps a social ball, or indeed any evening reception, where fine Ladies of the city gather to converse and outwit one another, when I am asked what my profession might be.

 

I always enjoy that moment. In fact I savour the two or three ihn I allow to tick by before I answer, ‘slaver.” There is always such a look of surprise on the face of the Lady talking to me – a flustered look, as she realises perhaps, she hadn’t wanted to know that. 

 

I do not look like a slaver, I suppose, when I am not wearing my caste colours. I am five feet, one inch tall, standing on my bare feet, and my body is slight and, dare I say it, shamefully feminine. I conceal my true height by wearing block heels with a four inch lift when I am outside my house, and when I am assessing slaves. The extra four inches gives me enough height to maintain a crucial psychological advantage with most women I meet. But, no, I’m not what you might think of when you picture a female slaver. I certainly don’t look like the heavily built women with broad shoulders and strong arms, dressed in leather garments, who administer discipline in the slave pens of Argentum at my command. My body is not really built to swing a heavy whip, and yet slaver is my caste. I was born into it, and I have embraced it over the years.

 

“I didn’t mean to…” the Lady Thamaya had said as she blushed red at a garden party last week. 

 

“You feel uncomfortable now?” I said. They always did. I enjoyed the reaction my statement usually had on women. 

 

“No, no, of course not.” 

 

I could see the Lady was about to make her excuses to move on and perhaps find a Scribe to talk to instead.

 

“You think perhaps I am sizing you up for acquisition?” I laughed gently, trying to put her at ease. “Please… how quaint and absurd. Do you think, perhaps, that my caste routinely observes free women as potential prey?”

 

“Of course not, no, don’t be silly,” she said, relaxing a little as I made to reassure her. “I’m not paranoid like that. No one truly believes that.”

 

“I see you are an intelligent and perceptive woman, Lady Thamaya. We slavers of course are simply specialised merchants. We buy and sell product. You may as well accuse a silk merchant of eyeing up every bale of silk she sees in a market place.”

 

“Of course. I know your caste is tightly regulated and you operate with honesty and integrity at all times.”

 

“Of course we do. The laws of Argentum apply as much to me as they do to you. Our business practices comply with the full weight of the courts behind them.” 

 

“It’s just that I have never met a woman slaver before,” said Thamaya, pleasantly. 

 

“We are really quite charming, and when off duty perfectly approachable,” I said with a self-deprecating laugh. “You shouldn’t be scared of me.”

 

“Oh, I’m not scared of you,” she said with the confidence of a woman who wasn’t standing in my assessment chamber in my secure caste house on the street of brands. Were she there now, perhaps barefoot, standing in a chalk circle, under the watchful eye of a guardsman, she might be less confident.

 

“I’m glad to hear it.” I touched her arm lightly with my hand. “Not all Ladies are as open minded as you are.”

 

“I’m really quite progressive in my dealings with people,” she said. “Why shouldn’t a woman be a slaver?!”

 

“I’m glad to hear it.”

 

“I do not presume to make assumptions when I meet people.”

 

“That is kind of you, Lady Thamaya.”

 

“What is your primary role within your caste, if you don’t mind me asking?”

 

“Not at all. It’s nice to be able to speak openly about my work. There are many duties within the caste. Many women work as administrators, overseeing accounts and paperwork and suchlike. Others make formidable trainers, both of kajirae and male silk slaves. But myself, well, I work in acquisitions…”

 

“Acquisitions…” Thamaya’s eyes opened wide.

 

“Yes, the tracking and acquiring of stock. I have an eye for it, and a talent for striking good deals.”

 

“You acquire…”

 

“Women, mostly, but occasionally men, though they are not my speciality. The market for a certain kind of man is growing though, for well-trained silk slaves are in demand in recent years. Free women these days enjoy a more independent financial status than they might have done, say, fifty years ago. Many ladies see the acquisition of a pretty silk slave kajirus as a sign of status and a talking point at parties. Do you have a silk slave?”

 

Thamaya blushed. “No, I do not. I wouldn’t know what to do with one!”

 

“Well, there is always the obvious thing, but aside from that, a well-trained kajirus can be a delight. He sees to a Lady’s personal routine and is permanently on hand to make her day better. Walking beside the stirrup of her palanquin in Argentum, he enhances the social standing of the Lady, with his tight muscles, dressed in a pretty silk tunic, his hair bound back with a ribbon. Such men are not cheap though.”

 

“I have seen them occasionally. They look fine specimens.”

 

“Some will have been trained in my house. Should you ever be in the market for your own silk slave, please do look me up. I can always arrange a courtesy discount.”

 

“So kind of you,” said Lady Thamaya. “I am sorry if I acted a little flustered when you told me of your caste.”

 

“It is perfectly understandable. You imagined some fierce uncompromising woman standing before you, assessing your throat and wrists for steel shackles,” I laughed softly again. “Some women have vivid imaginations.”

 

“Oh!” she seemed flustered once more. “I suppose some do.”

 

“You would take a size 2 bracelet cuff, by the way,” I said in a manner that was supposed to reassure her it was just a naughty joke between girls, and not at all ominous.

 

“Oh!” she looked at her wrist in apparent surprise.

 

“I suppose you’ve never considered the matter before?”

 

“Well, no, of course not.”

 

“Well, now you know. If you ever have to submit, you can save the slaver the job of measuring your wrists.” I said that with a disarming smile.

 

“I’m sure he would be grateful for that,” said Thamaya, joining in with the rich jest.

 

“Slavers consider it a courtesy when a woman is good enough to be complicit in her own enslavement. It saves them time, and time is of course money.”

 

“Of course!”

 

I observed what I could of her body, sheathed as it was in layers of silk robes. The robes of the free woman, when worn unbelted, fall straight and smooth, like a tube, making it difficult to discern the outline of her body, the slave curves that may otherwise be visible. It makes my job all the harder, of course. Large breasted women typically wear their robes without a belt so as to disguise the sweet curves of those breasts. I should know, as my breasts are larger than the average woman, and I conceal their shape in the same way.

 

Men might view me very differently if they knew what my breasts looked like. 

 

“I suppose you know what my typical block price would be,” said Thamaya softly, as if prolonging the jest.

 

“Not really; robed and gloved, with your hair hooded the way you are.” She wore no veils at the moment as we were only women in the garden, but her hair was concealed by a soft floppy hood of her outer robes. I could not see enough of her body to make a full assessment. 

 

She seemed disappointed.

 

“Of course, should you truly wish to know, feel free to call on me at your convenience. We can enjoy some tea together, perhaps a spiced pasty or two, and I can then assess you in a soft and comfortable, not to mention, discrete environment, with no obligation to hand yourself into a slaver for sale afterwards.” I winked, again, to reassure her that this was all just good fun.

 

“You have a wicked sense of humour,” said Thamaya as she checked that no one was listening to us.

 

“I do, don’t I?”

 

I suppose you could call me a ‘seasonal slaver’ as I really only operate during the late Spring, through Summer and early Autumn months when my caste is particularly active in acquiring stock. During the winter I take time off and enjoy quality time with family and friends, making plans for the following year. 

 

This is the time when men prepare for war. Swords are sharpened, bows strung, shields are polished and spears readied. Argentum flexes its military might and turns its gaze on other, weaker, cities on the mainland. War is a constant, and like the activities of my own caste, tends to be seasonal. No sane general wages war in the winter when rain, wind and snow grips the land, metal becomes brittle and provisions are scarce, making it difficult to supply an army from the surrounding land. With war comes the sacking of settlements, towns and even cities. Women become plunder and I am there to quickly capitalise on their misfortune.

 

Most slavers re-supply through maintaining contracts with armies. We follow in the rear of military regiments, part of the baggage and supply train, pitching our own tented settlements in the secure line of sight of the military positions each night. As the soldiers take women, they invariably bring them to us to be assessed. No soldier wishes the inconvenience of keeping captives throughout the campaign. There is the security element to consider, and the cost of feeding them. Better to sell them immediately to the slaver encampment, even though the price we pay is a fraction of what those same women will go for in the markets of Argentum. 

 

We of course have our own overheads, and there is the matter of compensating the risk we take on the fringes of the battlefield, and it is only fair that we factor in a reasonable profit. 

 

We make our money buying in bulk, and selling after the women have been trained. We do not, as I’m sure you understand, roam around the land, ambushing travellers at random. The cost versus profit margin simply doesn’t make sense. 

 

Sometimes I am asked, do I enjoy my profession? Of course I do. Slavery is the mainstay of the Gorean economy, and slaves have to come from somewhere. We provide a valuable service to the free citizens of Argentum, many of whom dream of owning their own sweetly hipped kajira. Only 2% of free women wear collars and this is not enough to satisfy the demands of men, let alone women who may wish for a demure handmaiden of her own. I have estimated that possibly as many as 13% of free women need to be enslaved to seriously bring the prices down, based on factors of economic supply versus demand. Sometimes the market is glutted after a particularly violent war. The Cos-Ar conflict of thirty years ago is a case in point, when there were so many women suddenly enslaved that, for a time at least, prices suffered and honest slavers struggled to clear their stock levels, but such things are rare and, anyway, well before my time. 

 

And, if I’m being honest, there is some satisfaction in seeing the women of our enemies enslaved for the benefit of Argentum. Let them serve as slaves, where once they walked proudly through the sun dappled plazas of their own cities. 

 

I have, over the years, done quite well for myself. In Argentum I sit on the council of slavers; one of thirteen such people – ten men and three women. We administer and promote the needs of our caste and discuss internal matters, judging cases where necessary and setting caste law. Of the other two ladies, Rosalita is free companioned, but Kelapina is not. I currently field several offers of companionship from men within my caste, some of which are ludicrous and without merit, but one or two are perhaps possibilities. I will of course take my time with any such decision. Let these men try harder to win my hand. Let them know they are not alone in their wooing. I think it is healthy for men to have to compete for a smile from me, the motion of a hand within a soft sleeve of silk, or perhaps even a whispered word of endearment as an inducement for them to maintain their interest. Two men in particular routinely send me presents of flowers, fine gowns, chocolates, even small pouches of black wine beans, for it has recently become available in Argentum from sources other than the hill sides of Thentis. It is said the merchants of Thentis no longer hold the monopoly on the beans and that prices have come down from their expensive peak in times past. All I know is that black wine is now the most fashionable drink in Argentum, and the prestige and status of a Lady depends very much on whether she is able to serve a guest with a small cup of the beverage. Ladies who cannot are obviously inferior to those who can.

 

Black wine is bitter, non-alcoholic, despite the ‘wine’ in its name, and an acquired taste; and it is either served ‘first slave’, meaning with cream and sugar, or ‘second slave’, meaning black and unsweetened. I, myself, take it with cream and sugar. 

 

I guard my own precious resource of the black beans jealously. I am in competition with many of the Ladies of the city to obtain the beans when they are made available. I have sometimes seen undignified squabbles in the market plaza between ladies desperate to acquire some beans of their own. Quite shameful. 

 

The winter has been a long one in Argentum. Some winters are mild, some less so. A month ago there was ice on the ramparts of the city, but with the Spring equinox comes the start of the new Gorean year (ignore the brutes in Turia who consider the year only starts with the summer equinox) and already talk has begun as to the direction our mighty spears might march come summer. Last year there was diplomatic unrest once again between Argentum and Corcyrus. Corcyrus paid the price for such threats forty five years ago when we fought over the contested silver mines on our borders. Now they think they can antagonise us once again, forgetting how we pushed their armies back to their white stone walls and stormed their precious city. Our slavers did well from that war. Many former ladies of Corcyrus have spent several decades in collars and chains as a result of their defeat. We can do this to them again if they so wish.

 

Mighty is Argentum. 

 

Our men are among the bravest warriors in the whole of Gor! 

 

One of the men who courts me is a warrior. Bryssius is his name. He wears the scarlet and sometimes he rides past my home on a broad shouldered tharlarion with a lance at his side. I stand on my balcony and I gesture to him, encouraging him to bow in his saddle as he passes by.

 

Of the other, he is Tywin, a slaver of my caste. I am encouraged to companion within my own people, but a warrior too is a fine match. I am undecided. Let both men struggle to win me over. I will play them off against one another, favouring one perhaps and then the other. 

 

Bryssius is eager to march to war this year. He longs for battle and has been training his men all winter in preparation for the campaign season. If we point our spears at the high walls of Corcyrus again, Bryssius will be first in line to cut their troops down with relish. And Tywin will be happy to buy the free women of Corcyrus when they are seized, stripped and collared. This new year promises to be a good one for both our castes. 

 

My name is Lady Amicia Katares, and this is my account of the events that occurred between Argentum and Corcyrus in the year 10,176 Contasta Ar.